Cannot resist, oh no...
Title: A Full-Scale Invasion of Archaic Human Rituals
Pairing: Saxon/Lucy
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: I don't own Doctor Who, or seriously, the Daleks would have my back, yo. I also don't own any mentions of anything else that might be in here, because seriously? I'm just a poor student. Hear that? POOR. Okay, done.
Author's Notes: I promised, didn't I? Well, they're back, and the ride is just beginning, kids. For this, I'd like to thank my marvelous betas as always. I'd also like to thank thugbeemer and calapine for all their wonderful inspiration. Keep it up, guys. You keep the fires burning.
The other parts of Bless:
Here Come The Drums
Devil Inside
Domesticity
Bassinet
Blood Calls To Blood
Wasted
Game's Afoot
Summary: Every couple has to conform arachic human rituals.
~~~~~~
He was starting to wonder about the inclusion of Lucy Cole in his plans. Oh, certainly, she was sweet and beautiful and quite possibly sociopathic. Her hair was like fine spun silk, her lips tasted like raspberries, and her eyes were filled with the madness of power-hungry dictators. She was unusual and pristine, and dozens of men should have been throwing themselves at her feet for that nearly virginal purity, just to see if they could get to the domineering devil beneath. She was more than he could have hoped for, for a pawn.
But really, what kind of girl could you take seriously after you’d told her your plans for world domination, kissed her stockings nearly off, and not only would she not fall into your bed like a wanton sex-kitten, but instead ask you when your first date was to be?
When he stared at her blankly, she smiled, stepped back, and picked up her coat again. “You should call for me at my parents’ house. You decide what we’re going to do, and then I’ll decide on a day that will work with both of our schedules.”
He arched an eyebrow at her - he, the Master, the scourge of millions of worlds, the terror of the Daleks (probably not so much anymore), practically the trickster God - and said with more than a hint of confusion, “Come again?”
She arched an eyebrow right back, one perfect golden eyebrow, before stating calmly, “Oh come on now, Harry. You don’t expect this to go from ridiculous courtship gifts to a wedding. We have to give the public more than that.” She slipped her gloves on, neat as you please. “Call late in the afternoon, after work? That way it won’t seem improper.”
“Did you not just hear that I’m going to be taking over the world,” He asked, giving her a disbelieving look. “And you want me to engage in an archaic human ritual?”
She looked at him, considering his words, before she flashed him a smile that was all perfect white teeth, and eyes that gleamed like blue steel. “So glad we understand each other.” And then she was gone.
He watched as she left, paralyzed with conflicting urges; to snap her neck, to kiss her breathless, to kill everyone she ever loved, to run after her, to make her run after him. Instead he stood there, listening to her car drive away into the night. He pursued his lips slowly, letting them go with an audible smack, before muttering to himself, “Right then.”
He went to his modestly stocked library, straight for his copy of How To Get The Girl Of Your Dreams, In Ten Easy Chapters, his constant companion for the past few weeks. When he first picked up the book, he thought it a bit dubious that you could get anyone to fall in love with you in ten easy chapters, and half-expected chapter ten to be, ‘So You’re Finally Reduced To Mind Control!’
Well, he hadn’t thought he’d be reduced to it, but he might be wrong on that account. He thought the drums were going to drive him crazy, not some English chit with delusions of controlling a Time Lord. With a sigh, he moved on to chapter two, as he had exhausted chapter one’s amusing ideas for beginning a courtship.
Chapter Two: So You’re Going On A Date!
“Apparently so,” he muttered, as he read along.
Congratulations for jumping that first scary hurdle in love - now you know she likes you!
“Thank you, although the jury is apparently still out on that one.”
Now comes the tricky part - not messing that up.
“Oh, that’s not possible,” he frowned. “…Is that possible?”
It is entirely possible at this point for you to say one wrong thing, and then all that work you put in, all the thoughtfulness of your gifts, the time you’ve spent? GONE. And there’s no way to get it back.
“Well that’s depressing. How do I keep that from happening?”
The key to keeping all the ground you’ve won, and to move further along? Nothing more than the perfect first date. Do you know what that first date is?
“No, but for the twenty-five quid I spent on this, I would hope you would,” he flipped to the next page, “Or I’m going to hunt down your author and do horrifically bloody things to him just out of spite.”
The perfect first date is traditional, all the way. Some folks might tell you to go off the wall - to go wild and crazy, do something fun and exciting. But sir, this is a first date. You want to stick to something simple; you want to make this a night that’s about her. Take her to dinner, perhaps a show, and make sure any conversation focuses around her. That, intrepid traveler of the highway of love, is the right start on this leg of this groovy journey.
He exhaled, enjoying the feeling of air leaving and entering young, healthy lungs, before he snapped the book shut with an audible snap. “Well, bollocks. This sounds boring as Hell.”
~~~~~~~
When ringing the house of that groovy young miss that you’re pining for, remember that you’ll probably get one of the folks. Her parents aren’t there to shut you down, but keep in mind that they are protective of all their little bundle of joy. Just keep it brief and polite - you’re here for their daughter, so you have to impress them, but you don’t have to sell yourself like a used car.
This was good, because Rasillon knew he wasn’t going to be exerting himself for the two bleating apes that birthed Lucy, and he still debated on snapping her slender neck for putting him through this. He couldn’t deny the fact though that her very refusal to let her awe of him overpower her sensibilities kept him intrigued.
He had just started to wonder if he was a masochist when the line rang. For reasons that went along with the thoughts of enjoying torturing himself, he straightened his tie for a moment before he remembered that no-one could see him on this end. Also, again, he didn’t need to impress any human apes.
He half expected some peon to pick up the phone - perhaps a maid or the butler - but the voice that answered the line was definitely Oxford educated with a drawl of upper-class self-mockery. “Tarnminister Insane Asylum. The keeper of the lunatics here. How may I help you?” Somewhere in the background there was a velvety female chuckle.
He stared at the phone in confusion. Before he had a chance to ask if he had possibly dialed the wrong number, the voice continued wryly, “Listen, I know someone is on the line. I can hear you breathing. Now since I doubt you want to get off to an old man hacking up his own lungs, I can always get my elder daughter on the line. She’s always up for a cheap thrill.”
The corners of his mouth lifted upwards involuntarily, and he replied dryly, “Actually, I was looking for the younger daughter in order to give her a slightly more expensive thrill. If she’s at home, that is.”
There was a pause, before the older man chuckled into the phone, “Mr. Harold Saxon, I presume.”
“Lord Charles Cole, of Tarnminister,” he replied, feeling more at ease. Dealing with men of power, even if they were fathers, was slightly more doable, and Lord Cole had been a leading voice in the House of Lords for years before he was struck down by cancer and opposite party politics. He smirked a little, moving over to his window, “Do you usually prostitute out your older daughter?”
“I don’t see why not. She does enough of it on her own,” Lord Cole answered cheerily enough. “Lucy is right here. Hold on.” There was a slight shuffle before Lord Cole spoke again. “Oh yes, and thank you for the caramels. I do not thank you, however, for giving my idiot wife the idea to decorate the sitting room in that shade of Pepto-Bismol pink you seem to be so fond of. It’s ghastly. Do try to send ridiculous presents in darker shades next time? I hate pastels.”
His mouth curved up a bit more. “I shall endeavor to send any further gifts in shades of black, sir, to keep the incident from occurring again.”
“Very good. As my wife informs me, apparently black is the new black.” Lord Cole drawled again, “Here’s Lucy.”
He walked over to the desk as he heard the phone passed from father to daughter, where his plan of attack was clearly laid out. He had two lists, one of restaurants and the other of shows. It was easier to think of dating as a full-scale invasion - it eased up the urge to kill.
Lucy spoke, her voice was soft and pretty, but a hint of amusement rang through her dulcet tones. “Mr. Saxon.”
“Ms. Cole.” The little smile that had appeared when he had spoken with her father only deepened now. He plucked up the book, reviewing it briefly. “I am calling to request the pleasure of your company on an evening out.”
“Ah.” She sounded faintly perplexed, as if she was confused by the formalness in his request. “Well, Mr. Saxon, I would be … pleased to grant you my company. Are you free Friday evening? That’s the best day for my own schedule.”
“I would be completely open on Friday. How does dinner and a show sound? Perhaps …” He skimmed over his two lists - one of restaurants and the other of shows in the area. “Inn at the Park, followed by … The Producers?”
“The Mel Brooks production. I’ve, ah, heard interesting things about it.” There was a hint of that smooth laugh in Lucy’s voice, “Tell me, Mr. Saxon, have you ever seen The Producers?”
He wasn’t about to say, ‘No, it was just on the top of my list.’ That would seem like poor forward planning. Plus, he had no intention of losing any ground. “Of course I have. Hasn’t everyone?”
“Mm. I wonder.” Lucy answered, and there was a touch of innocence to her voice that made him think perhaps he ought to catch the matinee showing, just to know what the hell he had gotten himself into. “Very well, Mr. Saxon. That sounds lovely. Pick me up at six?”
Six - six - he could plan for six. It might involve going to ask for reservations in person just make sure they were cemented into the brains of the Inn’s staff, but nevertheless. Time was always relative to a Time Lord, even if the TARDIS didn’t work. “Done.” He paused, then added dryly, “I’m so glad my bid was accepted, Ms. Cole.”
“Why Mr. Saxon, you act as if I would turn down your bid at all.” Was it his imagination, or did she just purr? “I’ll see you Friday evening.”
The phone clicked off, and he smiled as it did so, looking at the book still sitting beside the phone. He felt the absurd desire to kiss it. Instead, he gave the book a fond pat, poured himself a scotch, and went to watch his afternoon share of the Teletubbies. He was fairly sure they’d never ask him to ask them out on a date. They were much more sensible than that. After all, they had tellies in their stomachs.
~~~~~~~
There are rules to be followed, when going to pick up your dream girl. First, don’t stand outside, honking the horn. Your girl is not take-away food. Second, you’re probably going to have to go in and meet the parents. Just be yourself; after all, if you’re groovy enough for their daughter, you should be groovy enough for them.
He closed the book, nodding his head thoughtfully, before peering out of the window of his jet-black BMW at the broad front doors of Tarnminister House. Seemed simple enough, although if he read the word ‘groovy’ one more time he might develop a suspicious eye twitch. He put the book in the glove box, stepped out of his vehicle, and smoothed down his crimson tie that reminded him comfortingly of slow and painful violence.
He rang the bell and straightened his tie minutely, putting on his biggest, flashiest smile in preparation for the person opening the door. The person at the door turned out to be a pretty young thing of a maid, who stammered a little and blushed. “Yes sir?”
His voice rang out with enough cheer to bring the bluebirds out of the trees. “Hello there, I’m here for Lucy.”
She dipped her head down once, before stepping back to let him inside, before closing the door behind her timidly. “Follow me through here, sir.”
He waited until she had turned around to watch her speculatively, following her inside through the foyer. Of course, the moment she turned back around, he once again smiled brightly and innocently. It gave him a vicious thrill as she turned a brighter shade of pink. “Miss Cole is …”
“Right here. Thank you, Bridget,” his eyes traveled upwards the long staircase to that soft and husky voice. His smile went from falsely cheery, to fiercely pleased. She was gorgeous in a simple black dress with a slight silvery sheen. She fastened on a dangling diamond earring, the other one glittering already from one small, perfect earlobe. Her hair was half swept up, the rest tumbling down in Greek-revival curls.
She walked down the stairs in those improbable high heels of hers, flashing slim and graceful ankles. He didn’t think it was possible to become aroused by the curve of someone’s calf leading into her ankle, but you learn something new about your libido every day. Like, say, finding out you have one.
The maid disappeared, like smoke. Lucy was right in front of him, as real as the drums that thudded softly with the staccato rhythm of her heels against the hard wooden floors. Her eyes, cold and blue, raked over him appraisingly, before she gifted him with a quick, sharp smile. “Don’t you look pretty..."
He stepped forward to meet her, doing a little spin, before offering her his hand. “You look gorgeous. I’m half understanding the point of this date if it’s to showcase all your charms.”
“Very pretty indeed,” she nodded her head approvingly, as she looked at his hand, then at him with that quiet sense of wonder from the night before. “It seems to me I should be nervous, touching a hand like that. Mere mortals traversing with the Gods, all that.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “For that, you are utterly forgiven for this archaic human ritual,” he wiggled his fingers, letting his smile become devilish. “Come on, Lucy, want to come out and play?”
She slipped her fingers through his - cool, pale, delicate and yet surprisingly strong - and then proceeded to drag him along behind her. “And now, you meet the family.”
He made a face. “…Reconsidering the forgiveness thing now.” Ugh. Family.
She gave him an arch look over his shoulder, smooth and aristocratic. He wanted to put her on a pedestal for that, or run his fingers through her hair and smear that bright red of her lipstick with his thumb, to make it look like she was bleeding. Red was a good color on Lucy Cole.
They entered a large room, some sort of study done in light pastel pinks that made his lips twitch upwards in amusement. Sitting around a tea table were two women - one easily in her sixties and another in her forties. Genetics apparently took a hit and a miss, because where Lucy was diminutive and pale, these women were taller, with thick, dark, curly hair and very expensively maintained tans, and a few more stones on them besides. Lucy held onto his hand, bringing him to her side but not quite in front of her, almost shielding him from the two women, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as a brilliant transformation took place, as she literally slipped into this mask of obedience and meekness. “Mother?”
The aforementioned Mother looked at her daughter with that deep sense of disapproval that only English mothers can seem to manage, but her gaze fell on him and her change was no less extreme than her daughter’s. She went from cold and distant to simpering in a moment, as she rose to her feet cooing, her younger replica following behind her. “Why, you must be Harold Saxon, the Ministry’s brightest new star! How do you do, I am Lady Cole, and this is my eldest daughter…”
He lost the rest of the introduction, mostly because it was boring as hell and partially because he couldn’t keep his eyes off the room’s other two occupants. One of them was a weasel-faced man with thinning hair who sipped at his tea as if he was worried it would attack him, and the other a gorilla of a man who had a few years on his dark-haired sister and fondled a gun a little too lovingly for his own liking.
The smaller man’s hand was sweaty, as he introduced himself as Nathan, the eldest daughter’s husband. The gorilla looked him up and down, proclaimed him to be ‘poof’, and went out, still fondling his gun, all the while the mother was still introducing him as Lucy’s older brother. He held in a snort - fear and violence, truly the trademark of the human race. When they were afraid, they tended towards violence. If you don’t understand it, hit it with a stick. He never would understand what the Doctor saw in these apes with opposable thumbs.
The mother cooed all over him, and the eldest daughter looked at him like she considered him a prime piece of meat for sexual cannibalism. When he found that Lucy had obtrusively put a Scotch in his hand, he had to resist the urge to proclaim his undying love for her right then and there, before horribly mutilating her entire clan. He privately cursed the book for not telling him what to do in matters of homicidal rage, when Lucy’s arm was on his elbow, leading him away as she murmured to Mother, “I wanted him to meet Father, and our reservations are for six-thirty.”
Her mother waved her hand dismissively, “You should go. I doubt your father is even going to miss you. He’s outside puttering, thank God it’s one of his good days, or otherwise the house would stink of menthol rub…”
He was pulled thankfully away from the haughty voice, and towards the broad French doors leading to the outside, and he took this opportunity to swallow his drink down and gasp, “Was that some last ditch attempt to convince me to save the human race? Because I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but you just failed miserably.”
The mask stripped away from her face just as swiftly as it had appeared, as Lucy snorted. “Please. Nathan’s a quivering worm, my brother is a brain-damaged cretin, my sister is a shameless slut and my mother an unholy bitch. They aren’t important at all.”
He stared at her as she opened the door, pointing at her with his empty glass, then back to the living room, shock and a touch of anger coming over his face. “Then why in the name of Hell did you make me go through all that?”
She looked back at him, her lips curving up, “Because the one that is important, is out here.” A distant thoughtful look crossed her face, before she smiled at him again. “Think of it as getting through the dragon’s lair.”
He mumbled softly, as she tugged him out into the back garden. “I’m beginning to understand then why dragons are extinct.”
Her face twisted into a knowing smirk, as she tucked her arm through his, leading him across the lawn, up a stone path to a small white gazebo set beside a rather vast pond. It was cold, and getting colder, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. As they came closer, he could see the back of a man that seemed familiar, at least from pictures. In his glory days, Lord Cole had been a man of considerable height and presence; he literally filled up the frame of every picture taken. The man who rose from the stone bench in the middle of the gazebo had obviously been ill, but the ferocity remained. He walked with a cane now, and a small inhaler was tucked into the pocket of his thick jumper, but his blue eyes were keen on the two of them as they approached. Here it was obvious where Lucy had gotten her coloring.
Lord Cole looked him up and down distantly; before his mouth twitched upwards, his voice rough with amusement, “Well look at you, Harold Saxon. How do you expect to take over the world if your future in-laws turn you such a ghastly shade of green?”
He tilted up his chin, looking sharply over at Lucy, but she said nothing, a serene smile on her face. So he turned his gaze back to the old man, sticking out his hand as he said warily, “I didn’t realize I was interviewing for the position.”
One of Lord Cole’s shaggy eyebrows rose, “I’m sorry, do you honestly believe I would have put you through that cesspool of human leeches if I wasn’t making sure you were good enough for my daughter? I mean, for an inhuman monster who’s bent on taking over the planet.” The man took his hand, shaking it firmly, his grip dry and possessing a great deal of strength in a man this ill.
Something in his chest both loosened and tightened at the same time, and he narrowed his eyes a little, “I’m not quite sure -“
“Oh please. You want to take over the world and you look like a man who actually has some sort of clue on how to do it.” Lord Cole stood back, his mouth going crooked. “There’s no possible way you could be human.”
He stared at Lord Cole for a moment, before he tilted his head back and laughed, delighted. He had worried that he had been obvious, in some small fashion, but no. This man was just that good, and best of all; he had in him the same sort of callous madness that made his daughter so enticing. He recovered from his mirth, one hand briefly covering his mouth, before he grinned. “Lord Cole, have I mentioned that it’s a pleasure that your daughter has taken all her genetics from your side of the pool?”
Lord Cole waved his hand, looking at Lucy with the kind of fierce pride that he imagined Michelangelo felt as he stared at the Sistine Chapel. “Oh, it was only partially genetics. Everything else was very carefully crafted.” Those blue eyes zeroed in on his dark ones again. “You keep that in mind, Harold Saxon.”
His mouth tugged up again. “I don’t think I could do anything but, Lord Cole.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The most important thing about this first date is that is not about you - it is about her. If you see a flick, ask her what she thinks. When you’re at dinner, let her order for herself. Remember, this is your special lady! You have to treat like she is, guess what there buddy boy? Special! That shouldn’t be that hard - after all she is the apple of your eye, right?
Perhaps this piece of well-spoken advice would be easier, if he wasn’t still caught on the fact that someone had actually written a musical about Hitler - Adolf Hitler, one of humanity’s biggest pariahs. No, it was more than that; this Mel Brooks person had written a mock musical about Hitler that was supposed to be taken seriously in the context of the storyline. Yet by the end of it all it had become a mock musical inside of a mock musical. Then of course, there were the dancing Nazis. He remembered the Nazis doing many things during World War II, but line-kick-dancing wasn’t one of them.
So she asked him as they were walking out of the theatre, her slender hand tucked inside of his, a tiny point of warmth against a cold London evening, “What did you think?”
He pursued his lips, bringing moisture back to them as he brooded on his answer for a moment, and then gave the only answer he had been thinking of for the past several hours, “You people are just weird.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, and he found himself both undeniably drawn to the fact that she laughed at him, and the deep felt irritation that she was laughing at him. Passion and murder seemed to always be on the forefront of his mind with Lucy Cole.
~~~~~~~~~
He expected dinner, after that myriad display of a show, to be horrendously boring. After all, it was an hour or so of chitchat while shoveling food down one’s gullet. He’d seen this part on television: man and women go out, the woman orders some sort of salad or light calorie dish, the man tries to impress her with tales of his mental or social virility, and he either failed miserably or he scored unbelievably well. Not to mention some truly ghastly pick-up lines from the male, which should have been impossible for him to say and still get shagged. Was he meant to believe that women really were that easy?
Well, he had hoped. But that wasn’t happening, was it? Humans. They never did what you expected. Wily apes.
He tossed the menu back at the waiter, his mouth twisting up into a charming smile, “I’ll take a steak, all the trimmings. Trot it around the stove and let it look at the fire, then bring it out here,” he arched an eyebrow at Lucy, trying to keep his boredom out of his voice, “Ms. Cole?”
“Actually … that sounds good. I’ll take what he’s having,” he stared at her as she snapped her menu shut sharply, looking at the waiter. “And we’ll take a red wine with that. The darkest one you have.”
The waiter took it from her with only a raised eyebrow in comment, leaving him to contemplate her silently. She in turn looked back at him, folding her pale arms on the table, her expression bemused. After a minute, he shook his head, “You know, I just don’t get you. I literally have never met another woman like you in all my days, and I’ve had a fair number of them. I expect you to act like some sort of evil temptress and you make me take you out on a date. I take you out on a date, a traditional human one no less, and then you toss one googly after another at me.” He folded his own arms on the table, leaning forward to look at her, his dark eyes intent. “Just what kind of woman are you, anyways?”
She smiled, teeth glinting in the candlelight, as she leaned forward a bit more and whispered to him. “The kind that is never going to bore you, Mr. Saxon.” She arched one eyebrow, “Or the one who plays a passive role. You said you wanted a companion - well, your sort of companion is someone who is going to balance you out, see to your interests being met, and above all, being a help to you and not a hindrance. Look around you.” She tilted her head ever so slightly about the restaurant.
His eyes flicked left, then right, noting that several couples looked away from them. He frowned slightly, “We seem to be quite the show.”
“Exactly. You want to become the ruler of the world - the best place you can start is with good publicity. Being seen in public, young and in love? Perfect. People eat that up with a spoon.” She arched an eyebrow at him, her lips a lovely crimson slash. “I’d bet you dinner we’re on the front page of the society section, come tomorrow.”
He looked at her in silent wonder as she sat back, sitting so primly as the waiter approached with the wine. She looked at him beneath her eyelashes, and the light in her blue eyes gleamed with coy knowledge.
His finger rubbed the corner of his mouth, as he silently rearranged plans in his head. Lucy Cole wasn’t going to make a good pawn; he had been right on that account. She would, however, make one hell of a Queen. The corners of his mouth lifted up, as stabs of vicious pleasure came through him. He reached across the table, taking the hand she was wrapping around the wine glass, squeezing it gently, lowering his voice to a whisper again, “Darling, how would you like to be standing at my right side come the utter destruction of the human race? Companion, and partner?”
Her teeth flashed again, and she tilted her head just so, to give it the right kind of shy moue while the crowd around them whispered. “Oh Harry, I thought you’d never ask.”
Watching her eat her steak later on - neat, precise destruction of a large piece of bloody meat - was probably the best foreplay he had ever had in his entire 900 odd years. It also made him realize something he hadn’t quite planned.
Of all the chicanery, the trickery, and the soon-to-be conspiracies and hiding of the bodies, literally and metaphorically, only one thing would be true. He had fallen in love with a human. Oh, a human of no comparison, true, but still … a human.
I’m going to marry this girl. No force on this Earth, in any century, is going to stop me from possessing her. She’s mine.
He sipped his wine and smiled silently to himself.
~~~~~~
Getting past the hurdle of the first date is a time of realization; you’ve gotten the first big answer to the question you’ve been wondering all along - is this girl worth it? If no, then you get to start at the beginning of this book all over again, with another wonderful lady.
If yes, then you’re at the start of a beautiful adventure, one that you will share together. For preparation for the next step in your journey, please turn the page to Chapter Three - Forming a Lasting Bond; Your New Relationship.
“What are you reading?” Lucy’s voice made him snap the book shut as she exited the publishing office, dressed to the nines in a navy blue silk gown and thick white coat, her feet incased in a pair of shimmering heels in the same shade that made his mouth water.
He grinned, holding the book behind his back as he opened the car door for her. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Come on, we’re late for the opera. We might miss all those paparazzi you’ve tipped off.”
“That would be a shame. I’ve been practicing my best demure look for hours.” She showed it to him now, a shy little smile, her head ducked down slightly low.
The drums thudded with the sudden rush of blood through his two hearts. He leaned in and kissed her, delighting in smearing that pretty pink lipstick all over his own mouth roughly. He leaned back just far enough to whisper into her delicate little ear as they broke apart, both breathless. “Practically virginal, if I didn’t know better.”
She cupped his jaw, rubbing the traces of lipstick with her thumb further into his mouth, her touch and her look marking him. She smiled; his favorite one, where her eyes gleamed with the traces of the Vortex. She slipped into the car. He closed the door, watching her as she reapplied her lipstick.
He looked at the book for a long moment, tapping the cover thoughtfully as he eyed the rubbish bin down the way. Technically, he had won the girl, hadn’t he? And it had only taken two easy lessons at that.
He glanced at Lucy again, and shook his head. If there was anything he had learned from the Doctor - never give away your plans until you’ve absolutely positively succeeded. And who knew when he’d have to plan another full-scale invasion of archaic human rituals? After all, that chapter on Asking For Her Hand In Marriage looked like it would be entertaining to completely take apart and rewrite for his future bride. He grinned at visions of triumph, and glory, troupes of catered waiters and enough scented candles to set fire to London and make it smell pleasantly of vanilla, besides.
With the same smile on his face, he made sure to carefully mark his place, before finally joining her.
Pairing: Saxon/Lucy
Rating: PG
Disclaimers: I don't own Doctor Who, or seriously, the Daleks would have my back, yo. I also don't own any mentions of anything else that might be in here, because seriously? I'm just a poor student. Hear that? POOR. Okay, done.
Author's Notes: I promised, didn't I? Well, they're back, and the ride is just beginning, kids. For this, I'd like to thank my marvelous betas as always. I'd also like to thank thugbeemer and calapine for all their wonderful inspiration. Keep it up, guys. You keep the fires burning.
The other parts of Bless:
Here Come The Drums
Devil Inside
Domesticity
Bassinet
Blood Calls To Blood
Wasted
Game's Afoot
Summary: Every couple has to conform arachic human rituals.
~~~~~~
He was starting to wonder about the inclusion of Lucy Cole in his plans. Oh, certainly, she was sweet and beautiful and quite possibly sociopathic. Her hair was like fine spun silk, her lips tasted like raspberries, and her eyes were filled with the madness of power-hungry dictators. She was unusual and pristine, and dozens of men should have been throwing themselves at her feet for that nearly virginal purity, just to see if they could get to the domineering devil beneath. She was more than he could have hoped for, for a pawn.
But really, what kind of girl could you take seriously after you’d told her your plans for world domination, kissed her stockings nearly off, and not only would she not fall into your bed like a wanton sex-kitten, but instead ask you when your first date was to be?
When he stared at her blankly, she smiled, stepped back, and picked up her coat again. “You should call for me at my parents’ house. You decide what we’re going to do, and then I’ll decide on a day that will work with both of our schedules.”
He arched an eyebrow at her - he, the Master, the scourge of millions of worlds, the terror of the Daleks (probably not so much anymore), practically the trickster God - and said with more than a hint of confusion, “Come again?”
She arched an eyebrow right back, one perfect golden eyebrow, before stating calmly, “Oh come on now, Harry. You don’t expect this to go from ridiculous courtship gifts to a wedding. We have to give the public more than that.” She slipped her gloves on, neat as you please. “Call late in the afternoon, after work? That way it won’t seem improper.”
“Did you not just hear that I’m going to be taking over the world,” He asked, giving her a disbelieving look. “And you want me to engage in an archaic human ritual?”
She looked at him, considering his words, before she flashed him a smile that was all perfect white teeth, and eyes that gleamed like blue steel. “So glad we understand each other.” And then she was gone.
He watched as she left, paralyzed with conflicting urges; to snap her neck, to kiss her breathless, to kill everyone she ever loved, to run after her, to make her run after him. Instead he stood there, listening to her car drive away into the night. He pursued his lips slowly, letting them go with an audible smack, before muttering to himself, “Right then.”
He went to his modestly stocked library, straight for his copy of How To Get The Girl Of Your Dreams, In Ten Easy Chapters, his constant companion for the past few weeks. When he first picked up the book, he thought it a bit dubious that you could get anyone to fall in love with you in ten easy chapters, and half-expected chapter ten to be, ‘So You’re Finally Reduced To Mind Control!’
Well, he hadn’t thought he’d be reduced to it, but he might be wrong on that account. He thought the drums were going to drive him crazy, not some English chit with delusions of controlling a Time Lord. With a sigh, he moved on to chapter two, as he had exhausted chapter one’s amusing ideas for beginning a courtship.
Chapter Two: So You’re Going On A Date!
“Apparently so,” he muttered, as he read along.
Congratulations for jumping that first scary hurdle in love - now you know she likes you!
“Thank you, although the jury is apparently still out on that one.”
Now comes the tricky part - not messing that up.
“Oh, that’s not possible,” he frowned. “…Is that possible?”
It is entirely possible at this point for you to say one wrong thing, and then all that work you put in, all the thoughtfulness of your gifts, the time you’ve spent? GONE. And there’s no way to get it back.
“Well that’s depressing. How do I keep that from happening?”
The key to keeping all the ground you’ve won, and to move further along? Nothing more than the perfect first date. Do you know what that first date is?
“No, but for the twenty-five quid I spent on this, I would hope you would,” he flipped to the next page, “Or I’m going to hunt down your author and do horrifically bloody things to him just out of spite.”
The perfect first date is traditional, all the way. Some folks might tell you to go off the wall - to go wild and crazy, do something fun and exciting. But sir, this is a first date. You want to stick to something simple; you want to make this a night that’s about her. Take her to dinner, perhaps a show, and make sure any conversation focuses around her. That, intrepid traveler of the highway of love, is the right start on this leg of this groovy journey.
He exhaled, enjoying the feeling of air leaving and entering young, healthy lungs, before he snapped the book shut with an audible snap. “Well, bollocks. This sounds boring as Hell.”
~~~~~~~
When ringing the house of that groovy young miss that you’re pining for, remember that you’ll probably get one of the folks. Her parents aren’t there to shut you down, but keep in mind that they are protective of all their little bundle of joy. Just keep it brief and polite - you’re here for their daughter, so you have to impress them, but you don’t have to sell yourself like a used car.
This was good, because Rasillon knew he wasn’t going to be exerting himself for the two bleating apes that birthed Lucy, and he still debated on snapping her slender neck for putting him through this. He couldn’t deny the fact though that her very refusal to let her awe of him overpower her sensibilities kept him intrigued.
He had just started to wonder if he was a masochist when the line rang. For reasons that went along with the thoughts of enjoying torturing himself, he straightened his tie for a moment before he remembered that no-one could see him on this end. Also, again, he didn’t need to impress any human apes.
He half expected some peon to pick up the phone - perhaps a maid or the butler - but the voice that answered the line was definitely Oxford educated with a drawl of upper-class self-mockery. “Tarnminister Insane Asylum. The keeper of the lunatics here. How may I help you?” Somewhere in the background there was a velvety female chuckle.
He stared at the phone in confusion. Before he had a chance to ask if he had possibly dialed the wrong number, the voice continued wryly, “Listen, I know someone is on the line. I can hear you breathing. Now since I doubt you want to get off to an old man hacking up his own lungs, I can always get my elder daughter on the line. She’s always up for a cheap thrill.”
The corners of his mouth lifted upwards involuntarily, and he replied dryly, “Actually, I was looking for the younger daughter in order to give her a slightly more expensive thrill. If she’s at home, that is.”
There was a pause, before the older man chuckled into the phone, “Mr. Harold Saxon, I presume.”
“Lord Charles Cole, of Tarnminister,” he replied, feeling more at ease. Dealing with men of power, even if they were fathers, was slightly more doable, and Lord Cole had been a leading voice in the House of Lords for years before he was struck down by cancer and opposite party politics. He smirked a little, moving over to his window, “Do you usually prostitute out your older daughter?”
“I don’t see why not. She does enough of it on her own,” Lord Cole answered cheerily enough. “Lucy is right here. Hold on.” There was a slight shuffle before Lord Cole spoke again. “Oh yes, and thank you for the caramels. I do not thank you, however, for giving my idiot wife the idea to decorate the sitting room in that shade of Pepto-Bismol pink you seem to be so fond of. It’s ghastly. Do try to send ridiculous presents in darker shades next time? I hate pastels.”
His mouth curved up a bit more. “I shall endeavor to send any further gifts in shades of black, sir, to keep the incident from occurring again.”
“Very good. As my wife informs me, apparently black is the new black.” Lord Cole drawled again, “Here’s Lucy.”
He walked over to the desk as he heard the phone passed from father to daughter, where his plan of attack was clearly laid out. He had two lists, one of restaurants and the other of shows. It was easier to think of dating as a full-scale invasion - it eased up the urge to kill.
Lucy spoke, her voice was soft and pretty, but a hint of amusement rang through her dulcet tones. “Mr. Saxon.”
“Ms. Cole.” The little smile that had appeared when he had spoken with her father only deepened now. He plucked up the book, reviewing it briefly. “I am calling to request the pleasure of your company on an evening out.”
“Ah.” She sounded faintly perplexed, as if she was confused by the formalness in his request. “Well, Mr. Saxon, I would be … pleased to grant you my company. Are you free Friday evening? That’s the best day for my own schedule.”
“I would be completely open on Friday. How does dinner and a show sound? Perhaps …” He skimmed over his two lists - one of restaurants and the other of shows in the area. “Inn at the Park, followed by … The Producers?”
“The Mel Brooks production. I’ve, ah, heard interesting things about it.” There was a hint of that smooth laugh in Lucy’s voice, “Tell me, Mr. Saxon, have you ever seen The Producers?”
He wasn’t about to say, ‘No, it was just on the top of my list.’ That would seem like poor forward planning. Plus, he had no intention of losing any ground. “Of course I have. Hasn’t everyone?”
“Mm. I wonder.” Lucy answered, and there was a touch of innocence to her voice that made him think perhaps he ought to catch the matinee showing, just to know what the hell he had gotten himself into. “Very well, Mr. Saxon. That sounds lovely. Pick me up at six?”
Six - six - he could plan for six. It might involve going to ask for reservations in person just make sure they were cemented into the brains of the Inn’s staff, but nevertheless. Time was always relative to a Time Lord, even if the TARDIS didn’t work. “Done.” He paused, then added dryly, “I’m so glad my bid was accepted, Ms. Cole.”
“Why Mr. Saxon, you act as if I would turn down your bid at all.” Was it his imagination, or did she just purr? “I’ll see you Friday evening.”
The phone clicked off, and he smiled as it did so, looking at the book still sitting beside the phone. He felt the absurd desire to kiss it. Instead, he gave the book a fond pat, poured himself a scotch, and went to watch his afternoon share of the Teletubbies. He was fairly sure they’d never ask him to ask them out on a date. They were much more sensible than that. After all, they had tellies in their stomachs.
~~~~~~~
There are rules to be followed, when going to pick up your dream girl. First, don’t stand outside, honking the horn. Your girl is not take-away food. Second, you’re probably going to have to go in and meet the parents. Just be yourself; after all, if you’re groovy enough for their daughter, you should be groovy enough for them.
He closed the book, nodding his head thoughtfully, before peering out of the window of his jet-black BMW at the broad front doors of Tarnminister House. Seemed simple enough, although if he read the word ‘groovy’ one more time he might develop a suspicious eye twitch. He put the book in the glove box, stepped out of his vehicle, and smoothed down his crimson tie that reminded him comfortingly of slow and painful violence.
He rang the bell and straightened his tie minutely, putting on his biggest, flashiest smile in preparation for the person opening the door. The person at the door turned out to be a pretty young thing of a maid, who stammered a little and blushed. “Yes sir?”
His voice rang out with enough cheer to bring the bluebirds out of the trees. “Hello there, I’m here for Lucy.”
She dipped her head down once, before stepping back to let him inside, before closing the door behind her timidly. “Follow me through here, sir.”
He waited until she had turned around to watch her speculatively, following her inside through the foyer. Of course, the moment she turned back around, he once again smiled brightly and innocently. It gave him a vicious thrill as she turned a brighter shade of pink. “Miss Cole is …”
“Right here. Thank you, Bridget,” his eyes traveled upwards the long staircase to that soft and husky voice. His smile went from falsely cheery, to fiercely pleased. She was gorgeous in a simple black dress with a slight silvery sheen. She fastened on a dangling diamond earring, the other one glittering already from one small, perfect earlobe. Her hair was half swept up, the rest tumbling down in Greek-revival curls.
She walked down the stairs in those improbable high heels of hers, flashing slim and graceful ankles. He didn’t think it was possible to become aroused by the curve of someone’s calf leading into her ankle, but you learn something new about your libido every day. Like, say, finding out you have one.
The maid disappeared, like smoke. Lucy was right in front of him, as real as the drums that thudded softly with the staccato rhythm of her heels against the hard wooden floors. Her eyes, cold and blue, raked over him appraisingly, before she gifted him with a quick, sharp smile. “Don’t you look pretty..."
He stepped forward to meet her, doing a little spin, before offering her his hand. “You look gorgeous. I’m half understanding the point of this date if it’s to showcase all your charms.”
“Very pretty indeed,” she nodded her head approvingly, as she looked at his hand, then at him with that quiet sense of wonder from the night before. “It seems to me I should be nervous, touching a hand like that. Mere mortals traversing with the Gods, all that.”
One side of his mouth lifted. “For that, you are utterly forgiven for this archaic human ritual,” he wiggled his fingers, letting his smile become devilish. “Come on, Lucy, want to come out and play?”
She slipped her fingers through his - cool, pale, delicate and yet surprisingly strong - and then proceeded to drag him along behind her. “And now, you meet the family.”
He made a face. “…Reconsidering the forgiveness thing now.” Ugh. Family.
She gave him an arch look over his shoulder, smooth and aristocratic. He wanted to put her on a pedestal for that, or run his fingers through her hair and smear that bright red of her lipstick with his thumb, to make it look like she was bleeding. Red was a good color on Lucy Cole.
They entered a large room, some sort of study done in light pastel pinks that made his lips twitch upwards in amusement. Sitting around a tea table were two women - one easily in her sixties and another in her forties. Genetics apparently took a hit and a miss, because where Lucy was diminutive and pale, these women were taller, with thick, dark, curly hair and very expensively maintained tans, and a few more stones on them besides. Lucy held onto his hand, bringing him to her side but not quite in front of her, almost shielding him from the two women, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as a brilliant transformation took place, as she literally slipped into this mask of obedience and meekness. “Mother?”
The aforementioned Mother looked at her daughter with that deep sense of disapproval that only English mothers can seem to manage, but her gaze fell on him and her change was no less extreme than her daughter’s. She went from cold and distant to simpering in a moment, as she rose to her feet cooing, her younger replica following behind her. “Why, you must be Harold Saxon, the Ministry’s brightest new star! How do you do, I am Lady Cole, and this is my eldest daughter…”
He lost the rest of the introduction, mostly because it was boring as hell and partially because he couldn’t keep his eyes off the room’s other two occupants. One of them was a weasel-faced man with thinning hair who sipped at his tea as if he was worried it would attack him, and the other a gorilla of a man who had a few years on his dark-haired sister and fondled a gun a little too lovingly for his own liking.
The smaller man’s hand was sweaty, as he introduced himself as Nathan, the eldest daughter’s husband. The gorilla looked him up and down, proclaimed him to be ‘poof’, and went out, still fondling his gun, all the while the mother was still introducing him as Lucy’s older brother. He held in a snort - fear and violence, truly the trademark of the human race. When they were afraid, they tended towards violence. If you don’t understand it, hit it with a stick. He never would understand what the Doctor saw in these apes with opposable thumbs.
The mother cooed all over him, and the eldest daughter looked at him like she considered him a prime piece of meat for sexual cannibalism. When he found that Lucy had obtrusively put a Scotch in his hand, he had to resist the urge to proclaim his undying love for her right then and there, before horribly mutilating her entire clan. He privately cursed the book for not telling him what to do in matters of homicidal rage, when Lucy’s arm was on his elbow, leading him away as she murmured to Mother, “I wanted him to meet Father, and our reservations are for six-thirty.”
Her mother waved her hand dismissively, “You should go. I doubt your father is even going to miss you. He’s outside puttering, thank God it’s one of his good days, or otherwise the house would stink of menthol rub…”
He was pulled thankfully away from the haughty voice, and towards the broad French doors leading to the outside, and he took this opportunity to swallow his drink down and gasp, “Was that some last ditch attempt to convince me to save the human race? Because I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but you just failed miserably.”
The mask stripped away from her face just as swiftly as it had appeared, as Lucy snorted. “Please. Nathan’s a quivering worm, my brother is a brain-damaged cretin, my sister is a shameless slut and my mother an unholy bitch. They aren’t important at all.”
He stared at her as she opened the door, pointing at her with his empty glass, then back to the living room, shock and a touch of anger coming over his face. “Then why in the name of Hell did you make me go through all that?”
She looked back at him, her lips curving up, “Because the one that is important, is out here.” A distant thoughtful look crossed her face, before she smiled at him again. “Think of it as getting through the dragon’s lair.”
He mumbled softly, as she tugged him out into the back garden. “I’m beginning to understand then why dragons are extinct.”
Her face twisted into a knowing smirk, as she tucked her arm through his, leading him across the lawn, up a stone path to a small white gazebo set beside a rather vast pond. It was cold, and getting colder, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. As they came closer, he could see the back of a man that seemed familiar, at least from pictures. In his glory days, Lord Cole had been a man of considerable height and presence; he literally filled up the frame of every picture taken. The man who rose from the stone bench in the middle of the gazebo had obviously been ill, but the ferocity remained. He walked with a cane now, and a small inhaler was tucked into the pocket of his thick jumper, but his blue eyes were keen on the two of them as they approached. Here it was obvious where Lucy had gotten her coloring.
Lord Cole looked him up and down distantly; before his mouth twitched upwards, his voice rough with amusement, “Well look at you, Harold Saxon. How do you expect to take over the world if your future in-laws turn you such a ghastly shade of green?”
He tilted up his chin, looking sharply over at Lucy, but she said nothing, a serene smile on her face. So he turned his gaze back to the old man, sticking out his hand as he said warily, “I didn’t realize I was interviewing for the position.”
One of Lord Cole’s shaggy eyebrows rose, “I’m sorry, do you honestly believe I would have put you through that cesspool of human leeches if I wasn’t making sure you were good enough for my daughter? I mean, for an inhuman monster who’s bent on taking over the planet.” The man took his hand, shaking it firmly, his grip dry and possessing a great deal of strength in a man this ill.
Something in his chest both loosened and tightened at the same time, and he narrowed his eyes a little, “I’m not quite sure -“
“Oh please. You want to take over the world and you look like a man who actually has some sort of clue on how to do it.” Lord Cole stood back, his mouth going crooked. “There’s no possible way you could be human.”
He stared at Lord Cole for a moment, before he tilted his head back and laughed, delighted. He had worried that he had been obvious, in some small fashion, but no. This man was just that good, and best of all; he had in him the same sort of callous madness that made his daughter so enticing. He recovered from his mirth, one hand briefly covering his mouth, before he grinned. “Lord Cole, have I mentioned that it’s a pleasure that your daughter has taken all her genetics from your side of the pool?”
Lord Cole waved his hand, looking at Lucy with the kind of fierce pride that he imagined Michelangelo felt as he stared at the Sistine Chapel. “Oh, it was only partially genetics. Everything else was very carefully crafted.” Those blue eyes zeroed in on his dark ones again. “You keep that in mind, Harold Saxon.”
His mouth tugged up again. “I don’t think I could do anything but, Lord Cole.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The most important thing about this first date is that is not about you - it is about her. If you see a flick, ask her what she thinks. When you’re at dinner, let her order for herself. Remember, this is your special lady! You have to treat like she is, guess what there buddy boy? Special! That shouldn’t be that hard - after all she is the apple of your eye, right?
Perhaps this piece of well-spoken advice would be easier, if he wasn’t still caught on the fact that someone had actually written a musical about Hitler - Adolf Hitler, one of humanity’s biggest pariahs. No, it was more than that; this Mel Brooks person had written a mock musical about Hitler that was supposed to be taken seriously in the context of the storyline. Yet by the end of it all it had become a mock musical inside of a mock musical. Then of course, there were the dancing Nazis. He remembered the Nazis doing many things during World War II, but line-kick-dancing wasn’t one of them.
So she asked him as they were walking out of the theatre, her slender hand tucked inside of his, a tiny point of warmth against a cold London evening, “What did you think?”
He pursued his lips, bringing moisture back to them as he brooded on his answer for a moment, and then gave the only answer he had been thinking of for the past several hours, “You people are just weird.”
She tilted her head back and laughed, and he found himself both undeniably drawn to the fact that she laughed at him, and the deep felt irritation that she was laughing at him. Passion and murder seemed to always be on the forefront of his mind with Lucy Cole.
~~~~~~~~~
He expected dinner, after that myriad display of a show, to be horrendously boring. After all, it was an hour or so of chitchat while shoveling food down one’s gullet. He’d seen this part on television: man and women go out, the woman orders some sort of salad or light calorie dish, the man tries to impress her with tales of his mental or social virility, and he either failed miserably or he scored unbelievably well. Not to mention some truly ghastly pick-up lines from the male, which should have been impossible for him to say and still get shagged. Was he meant to believe that women really were that easy?
Well, he had hoped. But that wasn’t happening, was it? Humans. They never did what you expected. Wily apes.
He tossed the menu back at the waiter, his mouth twisting up into a charming smile, “I’ll take a steak, all the trimmings. Trot it around the stove and let it look at the fire, then bring it out here,” he arched an eyebrow at Lucy, trying to keep his boredom out of his voice, “Ms. Cole?”
“Actually … that sounds good. I’ll take what he’s having,” he stared at her as she snapped her menu shut sharply, looking at the waiter. “And we’ll take a red wine with that. The darkest one you have.”
The waiter took it from her with only a raised eyebrow in comment, leaving him to contemplate her silently. She in turn looked back at him, folding her pale arms on the table, her expression bemused. After a minute, he shook his head, “You know, I just don’t get you. I literally have never met another woman like you in all my days, and I’ve had a fair number of them. I expect you to act like some sort of evil temptress and you make me take you out on a date. I take you out on a date, a traditional human one no less, and then you toss one googly after another at me.” He folded his own arms on the table, leaning forward to look at her, his dark eyes intent. “Just what kind of woman are you, anyways?”
She smiled, teeth glinting in the candlelight, as she leaned forward a bit more and whispered to him. “The kind that is never going to bore you, Mr. Saxon.” She arched one eyebrow, “Or the one who plays a passive role. You said you wanted a companion - well, your sort of companion is someone who is going to balance you out, see to your interests being met, and above all, being a help to you and not a hindrance. Look around you.” She tilted her head ever so slightly about the restaurant.
His eyes flicked left, then right, noting that several couples looked away from them. He frowned slightly, “We seem to be quite the show.”
“Exactly. You want to become the ruler of the world - the best place you can start is with good publicity. Being seen in public, young and in love? Perfect. People eat that up with a spoon.” She arched an eyebrow at him, her lips a lovely crimson slash. “I’d bet you dinner we’re on the front page of the society section, come tomorrow.”
He looked at her in silent wonder as she sat back, sitting so primly as the waiter approached with the wine. She looked at him beneath her eyelashes, and the light in her blue eyes gleamed with coy knowledge.
His finger rubbed the corner of his mouth, as he silently rearranged plans in his head. Lucy Cole wasn’t going to make a good pawn; he had been right on that account. She would, however, make one hell of a Queen. The corners of his mouth lifted up, as stabs of vicious pleasure came through him. He reached across the table, taking the hand she was wrapping around the wine glass, squeezing it gently, lowering his voice to a whisper again, “Darling, how would you like to be standing at my right side come the utter destruction of the human race? Companion, and partner?”
Her teeth flashed again, and she tilted her head just so, to give it the right kind of shy moue while the crowd around them whispered. “Oh Harry, I thought you’d never ask.”
Watching her eat her steak later on - neat, precise destruction of a large piece of bloody meat - was probably the best foreplay he had ever had in his entire 900 odd years. It also made him realize something he hadn’t quite planned.
Of all the chicanery, the trickery, and the soon-to-be conspiracies and hiding of the bodies, literally and metaphorically, only one thing would be true. He had fallen in love with a human. Oh, a human of no comparison, true, but still … a human.
I’m going to marry this girl. No force on this Earth, in any century, is going to stop me from possessing her. She’s mine.
He sipped his wine and smiled silently to himself.
~~~~~~
Getting past the hurdle of the first date is a time of realization; you’ve gotten the first big answer to the question you’ve been wondering all along - is this girl worth it? If no, then you get to start at the beginning of this book all over again, with another wonderful lady.
If yes, then you’re at the start of a beautiful adventure, one that you will share together. For preparation for the next step in your journey, please turn the page to Chapter Three - Forming a Lasting Bond; Your New Relationship.
“What are you reading?” Lucy’s voice made him snap the book shut as she exited the publishing office, dressed to the nines in a navy blue silk gown and thick white coat, her feet incased in a pair of shimmering heels in the same shade that made his mouth water.
He grinned, holding the book behind his back as he opened the car door for her. “Wouldn’t you like to know? Come on, we’re late for the opera. We might miss all those paparazzi you’ve tipped off.”
“That would be a shame. I’ve been practicing my best demure look for hours.” She showed it to him now, a shy little smile, her head ducked down slightly low.
The drums thudded with the sudden rush of blood through his two hearts. He leaned in and kissed her, delighting in smearing that pretty pink lipstick all over his own mouth roughly. He leaned back just far enough to whisper into her delicate little ear as they broke apart, both breathless. “Practically virginal, if I didn’t know better.”
She cupped his jaw, rubbing the traces of lipstick with her thumb further into his mouth, her touch and her look marking him. She smiled; his favorite one, where her eyes gleamed with the traces of the Vortex. She slipped into the car. He closed the door, watching her as she reapplied her lipstick.
He looked at the book for a long moment, tapping the cover thoughtfully as he eyed the rubbish bin down the way. Technically, he had won the girl, hadn’t he? And it had only taken two easy lessons at that.
He glanced at Lucy again, and shook his head. If there was anything he had learned from the Doctor - never give away your plans until you’ve absolutely positively succeeded. And who knew when he’d have to plan another full-scale invasion of archaic human rituals? After all, that chapter on Asking For Her Hand In Marriage looked like it would be entertaining to completely take apart and rewrite for his future bride. He grinned at visions of triumph, and glory, troupes of catered waiters and enough scented candles to set fire to London and make it smell pleasantly of vanilla, besides.
With the same smile on his face, he made sure to carefully mark his place, before finally joining her.